


the thermodynamic cycle of victor nikiforov

by falchion



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop, Time Travel, this is messy and i love it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9249899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falchion/pseuds/falchion
Summary: When Victor Nikiforov dies in a traffic accident, he is given the chance to go back in time and change the future. What he doesn't realise, however, is exactly how far back he needs to go in order to change the fates of not only himself but also of those he loves.EDIT: Discontinued as of now. Not sure if I'll ever be able to wrap my head around what I was planning tbh.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is dedicated to all the science majors out there, may we suffer in solidarity...  
>  ~~btw if any of this scientific info is wrong feel free to correct me, im not a chem/physics major for a reason l m a o~~

 The first law of thermodynamics is based on three simple ideas:

1\. Energy is conserved  
2\. Heat and work produce equivalent effects  
3\. The only way energy can be transferred is through heat or work

Energy can be converted from one form to another (through heat or work), but cannot be created or destroyed.

Therefore, in an isolated system,  ∆Uuniverse = ∆Usystem \+ ∆Usurroundings = 0.

 

* * *

 

Victor Nikiforov dies at age 31 when a semi-trailer smashes into the side of his car.

It had been raining that night, the roads dark and wet, and in the back of his mind he could hear the crackling of the night-time radio. He'd never paid it much attention, but it served to create noise where there would otherwise be silence.

Silence was an unnatural thing when there were two people in a car, yet that night, it had been there, quiet and looming like an unwelcome guest. Victor's hand had tightened against the stick shift, the car's other occupant staring in the other direction with deliberation. His phone buzzed frequently, each vibration sending another spark of irritation over Victor's skin.

Buzz. Victor swallowed.

Buzz. His left eye twitched.

Buzz.

_Buzz._

"Can you turn that damned thing off?" Victor said. His voice had been neutral, and evenly-toned considering the rage that was simmering below him, crawling through his pores and threatening to spill. His knuckles were turning white, the juts of his bones looking as if they were to pierce through his skin should he grip that handle any harder. He could feel the cheap imitation leather peeling beneath his nails, and gripped it harder still.

"Why? It's not doing anything," came the reply. And then, "If you have time to watch over here then maybe you should keep your eyes on the road. The light's green."

Victor clicked his tongue. "Shut up," he'd said, his hand shoving the gear forward and his right foot hitting the gas.

The car's tires screeched as the road underneath proved too slippery to grip, and the car swerved slightly as he tried to get it under control.

"What the hell, Victor?" the man screamed, his hands reaching up towards the seatbelt. "Are you crazy? Just because you're mad doesn't mean you have to -"

"It was an _accident_ , Yuuri. Shut up before I -"

It didn't matter what he'd said, because neither of them had heard it.

There was no way for them to hear it, over the loud blaring horn of the large truck currently speeding their way, tipping over to it's left.

There was no way for them to hear it, over the sounds of it's tires running raw as the driver desperately tried to steer away, the brakes useless against the saturated roads. 

There was no way for them to hear it, because they were dead.

 

* * *

 

Victor wakes up in a cold sweat, his eyes snapping awake as his eyes adjust to the light. His ears are still ringing with the sound of the truck's horns, and the smell of asphalt and burning rubber lingers in his nose. He blinks, and his mind goes back to that moment in the car. That moment when he felt himself ripping in two, and the look that had been on Yuuri's face as they -

Yuuri.

He sits up with a jolt, his hands reaching up to cover his mouth, and his body lets out a shiver. Without wasting a second, he leaps from the bed and runs into the adjacent bathroom, just managing to reach the sink before he throws up the contents of his stomach into the basin.

He slumps to the floor, the familiar wooden panelling of their bathroom coming up to greet him. The taste of stomach acid lingers in his mouth, and it sobers him enough for the nonsense of his situation to catch up with him.

Victor's dead - he _knows_ he is. He has to be, he had felt himself dying when that truck hit them. It had been painful, if not instantaneous, but unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. And yet, here he is crumpled on their bathroom floor, his body warm and lungs inflating, as if he hadn't died at all.

"Victor? Are you okay?" Yuuri called from outside the door, his fingers rapping lightly against the wood. "I thought I heard you throwing up."

Victor's hands shake. It can't possibly be Yuuri - Yuuri died too, along with him. But then the door opens and Yuuri steps in, his glasses lopsided and pajamas rumpled, and that look of concern he often wore etched on his face like nothing had ever happened.

Victor climbs up to the sink and heaves once more.

"Oh, god, are you sick?" Yuuri asks, stepping over to Victor in an instant. His hands reach over to the other man's shoulders, and up to his hair to pull it back from his face. His touch meant to soothe, however, does only the opposite as Victor jerks back from him in alarm. "Victor...?"

 "You're dead," Victor says, his head shaking. "We're both dead." His hands reach out to the wall and the floors, as if he were expecting them to fall away from existence and have this illusion fade. But they don't, and Victor shivers once more. "I don't understand. We're _dead_ , Yuuri."

"Dead?" Yuuri repeats.

"Yes, we're dead. There was this huge semi-trailer that spun out of control and hit us, and we _died_. How do you not..." Victor's face crumples, his blood running hot under his skin. Nothing is making sense. This isn't - this cant...

"I think you must have had a nightmare last night, or something," Yuuri says softly. "It must have been pretty bad for you to think it was real... but don't worry. We're not dead. See?" Yuuri leans forward, taking Victor's hand into his own and lacing their fingers together.

Yuuri's hand is warm and pink, with blood running through them and a pulse under his skin. He's alive, and Victor is too.

The wrenching in his heart ceases. They aren't dead.

Victor smiles, because they are alive.

 

* * *

 

"You _told_ me you had it under control," Yuuri says, his voice a low hiss in Victor's ear. Around them is the low murmur of conversation and the sound of wine being poured into glasses, accompaniments to the live jazz band in the center of the room.

Victor looks away, sipping at his own glass of whiskey with a heated glare. "And I _do_ have it under control," he says back. "Whatever nonsense Jean-Jacques Leroy said up on that podium is for publicity and nothing more. That man doesn't know a single thing about his own affairs, let alone the affairs of everyone in this damned room." He glances at said man, in his loud red suit and girls on both arms, and grimaces. How men like that came into power like his was one of the great imbalances of this cruel world.

"But he has a point," Yuuri says. "Your companies work _together_ , Victor, and everything that he does ultimately reflects back onto you." 

"And how I wish it didn't," Victor mutters. "It's not that big a deal, anyway. I don't get why you're taking the words he says over the words I do. I know what I'm doing."

"I'm taking the words of his over yours precisely because I don't think you know what you're doing," Yuuri says, setting his wine glass down. He has white wine in his, to match the grilled fish that had been set out in front of him an hour earlier. He has not touched his food. "I'm not an idiot, Victor. I've seen the news reports, and I've read what they've been saying about your work lately. You can't call that having things under control."

"And since when are you the expert on this?" Victor asks. "This isn't your business, Yuuri. I can deal with JJ when I need to. I even have Chris -"

"This isn't my business?" Yuuri asks. His mouth is open, shock written on his face. "Victor, this company is your _life_ , and you're telling me now that it's none of my business?"

"My company and my life are _separate_ matters, Yuuri. I thought that you of all people would know that," Victor says, his voice terse.

And then Yuuri laughs. It's not the kind laugh that Victor had grown used to in the walls of their apartment, the kind that he has when Makkachin pads up to greet them in the evening or when they watch movies on the sofa. It's a laugh that's hollow and echoes through Victor's head like a bell, ringing and devoid.

He suddenly knows what Yuuri will say next.

"Really? Because lately, I haven't been able to tell the difference."

Yuuri throws back the remainder of his glass, before grabbing his jacket from the seat and walking away. Several attendees shoot curious glances in their direction, and Victor swears under his breath.

"Yuuri, wait," Victor calls after him, his own jacket in tow as he pushes his way past the guests. "Yuuri!"

"Victor," says a voice, and there's a hand on his arm. Turning his head, Victor finds himself face-to-face with Chris. "Whoa, that's not a happy face," he comments.

Victor clicks his tongue, "I'm sorry Chris, I don't have the time right now. I'm leaving."

Chris's eyes widen. "Leaving? But Victor, it's not even ten yet. You - You're one of the _hosts_ of this party. If you leave now, it will definitely be seen as an insult towards the others attending," he says.

"I know," Victor says impatiently, "but Yuuri... I've fucked up," Victor says. Chris raises his eyebrows. "Because of JJ, he knows."

"Oh," Chris says. "Well shit, dude, that sucks."

"Yeah," Victor agrees. "So cover for me, please?" Victor asks, placing his hands together in prayer.

"Of course, I'll try my best," Chris nods, patting his friend on the back. "And I hope you can make him listen," he adds, in regards to Yuuri. "I saw him walk past a second ago - he looked like he was about to cry."

"That's me, worst fiancé in the world, huh?" Victor mutters, more to himself than anyone else. "I owe you," he tells Chris, before heading out the entrance.

Victor's eyes catch him immediately, the lone black figure against pristine white hallways of the Ever Grand Hall. "Yuuri," he calls. Yuuri doesn't turn from where he's leaning against a pillar, his forehead resting against the palms of his hands. Victor strides to him and takes his hands, forcing the other man to look up at him. There are tears in Yuuri's eyes, however, these are tears more of anger than anything else.

"Don't touch me," Yuuri says, pulling his arms back with a shove. "I can't believe you right now. How long has this been happening?" he asks.

"It's not a big thing, Yuuri," Victor says, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Not a big thing? Victor, you are endangering not only yourself, but also the jobs of every person you work with, and who works for you. Do you understand just how many lives are affected just by you waking up in the morning?" Yuuri asks him.

"And as I said before, it's all under control," Victor bites back.

"I don't know if I can trust you when you say that," Yuuri says back. "Why is it that I have to hear things from other people? Why can't you trust me to tell me anything yourself?" And then, "Why don't you trust me anymore?"

"Yuuri, that's not true and you know it," Victor says.

Yuuri laughs. "It may as well be. Since as you said before, this is _none of my business_."

Victor lets out a sigh. "That's not what I meant," he says. "And you know it."

Yuuri doesn't bite back immediately this time. Instead, he looks away, his eyes tired. "I don't know what I know anymore, Victor," he says. "I'm going home." 

He turns to leave, but Victor outstretches his arm, grabbing the other man light enough only to pause him. "Please, Yuuri," he says, softly. "Don't. Let me explain this to you... please."

He watches as Yuuri stares at him, a troubled expression brewing on his face. And then, the harsh lines of his frown soften, and his eyes turn warm. "Okay," he says. "Let's go home, then."

It's raining when they exit the building, a surprise to them both as they sky had been clear when they had walked in hours ago. Victor hands Yuuri his coat. "Use this to cover your head," he tells him, before dashing into the downpour.

"Victor!" Yuuri calls out, before muttering under his breath and following him towards their car.

He's soaked regardless when he reaches it, clambering into the passenger seat with a groan and immediately tossing the jacket into the back seat before it began to freeze him. Victor had already started the car, the heater running but nowhere close to warm enough yet.

They don't speak in the car, and Yuuri faces the window to avoid Victor, who he knows is sending him glances every now and then. Eventually, Victor reaches forward and turns on the radio, for even he is unable to deal with the forced silence. 

Yuuri's phone buzzes in his pocket, and he takes it out. He doesn't speak, and still doesn't look at Victor, only alternating his gaze between the dark skylights outside and the glow of his phone screen in his lap. It vibrates constantly, much to Victor's irritation.

Buzz.

_Buzz._

"Can you turn that damned thing off?" Victor says, finally breaking their silence. 

"Why? It's not doing anything," Yuuri replies. "If you have time to watch over here then maybe you should keep your eyes on the road. The light's green."

"Shut up," Victor says. He turns forward to find that the light was indeed green, and he's glad that there aren't any other cars on the road right now to get pissed at him. After all, Yuuri's doing a fine job of that himself.

The silence returns, seating itself comfortably between the two of them, like an unscaleable wall. Suddenly, the situation feels familiar. Victor is hit with a bout of déjà vu, crawling over his skin in a way that gives him gooseflesh. He glances to the right, his foot hesitant on the pedal. However, there are no cars in sight.

Victor continues down the road. Yuuri's phone does not stop, and a glance at his screen shows that he's in the middle of a heavy conversation, although with who he is not sure. 

The car banks to the left suddenly, and Victor jolts as he quickly rights the steering wheel to set them straight again.

Yuuri looks up at him. "Victor?" he asks.

Victor blinks, shaking his head. "Sorry, I got a bit... I spaced out there," he said.

Yuuri doesn't reply, only staring at Victor with narrowed eyes, before turning back to his phone. Then, he looks up at Victor once more, this time his eyes wide in alarm.

"Victor!" he yells, his arm flying out to the steering wheel.

Victor blinks, and suddenly the road underneath them jolts.

"Shit," Yuuri swears. "Victor, what are you -" his words are cut off as he tries his best to swerve them right, however, from his position in the passenger seat it proves difficult. Victor realises the situation they're in moments too late - they'd gone off the road, and up onto the concrete.

The idea of taking his foot off the gas pedal hits him just moments before a telephone pole comes up to greet them.

 

* * *

 

"Interesting," a voice says.

Victor starts, turning around. No matter where he looks, his surroundings are the same - pure, stark white.

"Who's there?" Victor asks.

"Who?" the voice repeats. Before him, a cloaked figure steps out from the shadows he hadn't known existed. "I am no who," it says.  "I am you." 

Victor freezes; the voice is an exact replica of his own. It sounds odd hearing it, like how one feels hearing themselves on a recording. Like that cannot be them, but at the same time, they know it is. And suddenly he remembers it, the sound the car had made as it compacted against the pole. He can almost feel the shards of glass, too, as they embedded into his face and let blood drip over his skin, warming him up until he ceased to be.

"I'm dead," Victor says.

The figure nods. "Yes, but also no. This is the second time you have died, is it not?" it says.

A lurching feeling builds in Victor's stomach as his memories fester. Yes - he had died once before. It had been a truck that time, not a pole, and he had -

"That was a dream," Victor says, holding his hands in front of him. They are warm and unmarred, with a pulse under the skin. Yet, he is dead.

"It was no dream," the figure replies. "It was real." 

Victor pauses, frowning. "But if that was real, how could I die a second time?" After all, if he were already dead, there was no way he could die a second time. That was not what death was. 

The figure laughs. "Which is why I said it was interesting. You knew you would die on the way back from that party, yet you did absolutely nothing to try and change that course. In fact, you made it worse this time, by being the own culprit to your death."

When Victor looks up at the figure, it is holding a glass of whiskey in its hand. It lifts the amber liquid to its shadowed, colourless face, and takes a sip.

"How much did you drink tonight?" it asks him.

Victor tries to think, but he does not remember. He'd always handled his alcohol well, being, well, _Russian_ , however the events of that night had caused him to be slightly more relaxed with the frequency of his ordering. He'd had five... no, maybe ten glasses? He'd lost count, after JJ's speech. Then, he pauses.

"Are you... Are you saying that I died because I drove _drunk_?" Victor asks.

"It happens," it shrugs, tipping the rest of the liquid down. Victor isn't even sure if this figure has a body, but the liquid disappears, as if it had never existed at all. "You're human, after all."

"What's the point of this?" Victor asks. "Why did I die twice? What even _is_ this?"

"That boy you live with," the figure says, ignoring Victor's questions completely. "What's his name?"

Victor blinks. "Yuuri?"

"Yes, Yuuri. He's a smart one, you know. So much common sense - it's a wonder why you don't listen to him. It's a shame he always seems to die alongside you."

"What the... what are you talking about?" Victor asks, irritation beginning to course through his body.

 _"Do you understand just how many lives are affected just by you waking up in the morning?_ " it says, and Victor shudders because this time, it hadn't been his voice. No, it had been _Yuuri's_ , saying those words that he had told him just before at the party. Before they had died.

"I... I don't understand," Victor says, raising his hand to his head.

"What I'm giving you is a gift," it says. "The chance to re-do your mistakes, and to fix them. To _live_ , if that is what you want."

"What I want," Victor replies. What is it that he wants? Sure, he wants to live, and not to die in a horrible traffic accident. That's what anyone would want. But he thinks of the day of his death, of the situations leading up towards the climax, and wonders if surviving that night would be truly what he wants.

He thinks of Yuuri's face during JJ's speech, of his tears in the lobby, and the inevitable blowback that he will endure the following days to come. He thinks of the way Yuuri had spoken to him, as if he'd betrayed him and of the awful things that _he'd_ said to Yuuri _,_ and -

No, that isn't what he wants. There is so much that Victor wants, but none of it is what he had done.

"Tell me," Victor says, looking up at the cloaked figure with determined eyes. "Tell me, how this gift of yours works."

The figure smiles. It's a smile that is devoid of emotion, all teeth and glee. In it, Victor sees himself.

"Of course."

**Author's Note:**

> are you confused? so am i. buckle up, kids, and don't drink and drive.
> 
> also like.. please comment.. im dyin
> 
> [my writing blog](http://klwritesstuff.tumblr.com/)


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